A Letter to the World about Public Breastfeeding.

Dear World,


I'll keep this short and sweet.

Please stop sending mixed signals. We tell women that "breastfeeding is best", we tell them to do it but then we ask them to hide like it is shameful, kick them out of places for breastfeeding and say stupid things like "I don't want to see THAT" or "plan ahead and pump." Cut it out.  Stop the double speak. Get over your fear/sexual obsession with breasts and let a mother care for her child as nature intended because, I've got to break it to you, feeding babies is what boobs are for and everything else is just a nice bonus. Just think about it, if you wouldn't think it inappropriate for a woman to give a bottle then it isn't inappropriate for her to be breastfeeding with or without a cover. Mothering is hard enough without you projecting your issues onto moms and their babies. 

Get over yourselves please.

Even Sesame Street gets that breastfeeding a baby isn't a big deal, sometimes I feel like a lot of you need to go back to preschool.




Again, get over yourselves please and let a woman take care of her baby giving that "best" you're so into.

That's all I have to say about this. Today anyway.  I just had to get that off my chest.   Now I'm going to go whip my boob out and feed my baby.


Love,


The Leaky B@@b


P.S. Breastfeeding moms will not be bullied. We're educated, fierce women that WILL protect our children and meet their needs. Thank you.

Breaking up

Dear Vintage Style Beautiful Green Tweed Pumps,


I'm afraid this is good bye. I never intended to part like this, if ever at all but sadly, I suppose all good things must come to an end and seeing as my toes now press uncomfortably against you, this is the end. A sad and tragic parting of what was once a beautiful relationship.


It's not you, it's me. Things change, people change, feet change. Particularly after pregnancy. I was warned but I didn't heed the advice of all those naysayers telling me it wouldn't work, that my feet would probably get bigger and be too much for you to handle. My feet are now bigger than you and I know you don't mean to but you're hurting me, stifling me and crowding my freedom to run and dance. You can't help it, it's just the way you are. So it's over, we're done. I'm so sorry, you just can't stop change. And I've changed but you haven't.

We had 7 good years, the first 4 were really great and you and I went through a lot together: office drama, fundraising dinners, date nights at cute little bistros, so many memories. I will never forget spotting you in that chic little boutique consignment shop in Montrose. Love at first sight. Adorable and vintage, you seduced me with a great price and classic style. I pictured myself the crisp librarian type, coquette and studiously fun. Flirting with you for a while I knew almost instantly you'd be coming home with me. Even though it was obvious that you had a few flaws and would be inflexible to a fault perhaps in your structure, it all just added to your charm. So I brought you home and our love affair began. How I loved you. It became clear over time that we couldn't shop together, that always ended in disaster and dancing was such drama from you that I always made sure to choose a different partner. But we made it work. Compromise was the name of the game, I knew your strengths and weaknesses and you knew mine. Eventually though, specially after baby #4, we just started growing apart. I admit it, I used you only for work, to get something done. If I wanted fun I reached for another pair, never you. I'm sorry, it was just that I couldn't enjoy myself with you like I once could. Flip flops understand casual, sneakers know what I need for support, and strappy sandals totally get being cool and having a good time.


I tried to make it work even when we both had to admit things were awkward and uncomfortable when we were together. Really, I tried. It just didn't work. Then came totally sexy, amazing killer heels and I just stopped trying. I know that is what killed us. But I couldn't help it, they are a full size bigger and were $2 at a yard sale and made my heart go pitter-patter. How can you compete with those curves? That height? The alluring toe cleavage? That bling? Call me a cheap hussy, fine, but I have to be true to myself. I'm in love even if I know they aren't good for me. Today I went out with you for nostalgia's sake but it was then that I realized we really are over. I'm sorry.


You'll get over it, you'll move on, I know you'll be fine. There happens to be an 11 year old I know that I think could be ready for her first real relationship with an amazing pair of shoes. We'll get to see each other once in a while, I hope we can still be friends. You will always hold a special place in my heart.


Sincerely,


Jessica

The Hard Work of Mothering

Today I am thrilled to bring you a guest post by Kari Swanson, daughter, sister, wife, mother of two, librarian, and member of Generation X who is also known as BookishMama, a moderator on The Leaky B@@b forums. Kari blogs over at Thoughts from BookishMama and I've enjoyed reading some of her recent posts particularly related to breastfeeding.



This photograph was taken in 1936 by Dorothea Lange. Another photo called “Migrant Mother” taken by the same photographer of this same mother is probably one of the most famous photographs in American history, documenting the effects of the Great Depression.

The mother in the photograph was 32 years old when this photograph was taken and she and her husband had 7 children, including this little baby. She was photographed in a camp for migrant pea pickers. According to the photographer’s notes the early pea crop had failed and this family was destitute and had to sell the tires off their car in order to buy food.

Why am I posting this photo? I am posting this photo, because for me it exemplifies a hard working mother and a mother’s hard work at the same time.

Mothering can be hard work. Living at the beck and call of an infant, having no time to take a bathroom break, and getting little to no sleep for months, or even years, on end is hard work. Raising children requires dedication, organization, selflessness, empathy, creativity… the list goes on. All of those traits and skills and more are required of mothers whether they spend 24 hours every day with their children or not.

Kari took this beautiful photo while breastfeeding her daughter.

There is no such thing as a part-time mother. Once you are a mother you are a mother all day, every day for the rest of your life. All mothers, whether they have jobs that take them away from their children for periods of time, operate businesses in their homes, work outside their homes with their children on their backs/hips, or stay home with their children every day, are all full time mothers.

Let’s all be sensitive of what it means to be a hard working mother and to do the hard work of mothering. We are all doing the best we can and what we think is best for our children. Some of us choose to stay home with our children. Some of us choose to work. Some of us do not have choices either way. The grass may seem greener on the other side of the fence, but it’s really pretty much the same grass in different locations.

(PS This photograph is in the public domain. To read more about the photograph go to: http://www.loc.gov/pictures/item/fsa1998021556/PP/.)

Aching Love Celebrates

I wrote this poem for a friend as she celebrated and remembered her 4 babies born prematurely. One she holds here and 3 she holds now only in her heart. Grace is the name of the daughter that survived. Recently, 2 more wonderful families I know have gone through pregnancy loss and my heart aches for them as well. I have changed the words some to fit more moms that have experienced pregnancy loss, stillbirths, or premature little ones that did not make it. With this I honor all my friends that have lost children far too early and remember theirs and my own 3 pregnancy losses.

Aching Love Celebrates

by Jessica Martin-Weber

Sweet hope, please stay

This path you trod, do not take

If I could spare you with my fragile breath

I would not hesitate

Mother

Father

Sister

Brother

Love is breathing

Songs to sing

Wishes can not replace

The loves taken wing

Grace is but a gift

One imagines not to hold

But in the eyes of Grace we see

Joy and Grief, elegant and bold

Aching love celebrates

What some pretend is not

Empty womb knows true

Arms missing burdens lost

From her body early denied

In her heart they still survive

Lucky Mother, I

I have been wanting to write some prose about breastfeeding for a while. My first few attempts were awkward and forced. As I honored and processed a few difficult events including the anniversary of a particular suffering for our family, the passing away of a 15 year old former student and son of friends of ours, the stage 4 cancer diagnoses of a young woman friend of ours about to get married and honoring the memory of 3 babies born to a friend 9 years ago that didn't survive, a feeling of fierce protection welled up within me. Every time I sat down to breastfeed Smunchie my heart would pound with longing to protect my children and my thoughts for prose kept turning to this feeling. Though our own past as a family has shown me I can't protect them completely from everything forever, I can do this. Offering the protection of my milk is something I can do right now and I feel so blessed as a mother to be able to guard my children this way. Down the road my milk won't be the comfort and protection they need but right now, for my youngest, it is exactly what she needs. This poem came out of these thoughts.

Baby sigh
Contentment breathed
Lips slumber's smile keep
Cupids bow stretched
In this moment
I hold you safe
Guarded by my arms
Eyes
Heart
Milk
Flowing into you
Filling me


Whispers at my breast
Security expressed
Close
Empty
Overflow
Today I can protect you
A love you can taste
Would it to last forever
And never be replaced


Try, I said I'd try
Afraid that I would fail
But now I'd fail a thousand times
If it meant you could prevail
Restless
Hunters
Creep
Someday you'll fight alone
The lions on the prowl
But in this moment I press on
Slaying lions to the ground


Science may support this
As a great thing that I do
But for me it is no greater
Than simply loving you


I offer time and again
In mystery and awe
Part of me redefined
For beauty so small
Once, you inside me
Now I in you
Vulnerable action
The risk of love true
Sweet
Soft
Warm
Melding together I find
I am yours
And you are mine


Pain, oh yes, pain
But I traveled through
Pain and back
Just to hold you
And when my breast
You no longer require
I will remember
Like a burning fire
Searching mouth
Gentle hands
Satisfied smiles
Safe, I held you
If for but a time
Safe, I fed you
Lucky mother, I.

The Tardy WBW 2010 Perspectives blog-carnival wrap up

"Why are you always on the computer now? I thought we were going to do something special while Earth Baby and The Storyteller were at camp?"

Lolie's beautiful blue eyes were wide with expectation, waiting to hear what had to be a good answer from me.

Lolie, 7 years

Generally, I'm very careful about my time and protect the routine for me and my children. Though I'm not attending births right now which does make it a little easier, when I am, knowing it could be thrown off at any second means holding onto whatever rhythm I can is crucial. That, and I like to really be with my kids. Whenever I get really busy I hear the words to Harry Chapin's Cat's in the Craddle spinning through my head. Since I don't want that to be me, no matter what it was I was doing, I strive to find a balance.

Looking at Lolie and knowing the answer to her question the frustration of having just lost the carnival post full of links and information suddenly melted away. In the light of Loli's frustration with me not being available I realized that my explanation of "It's World Breastfeeding Week and I'm running a blog carnival and lots of give-aways!" sounded weak to even my grown-up mind. No way my 7 year old was going to give a rats' rear-end about World Breastfeeding Week, young lactivist though she may be. I had promised cupcakes and her sisters had been gone for 3 days already.

So, dear reader, I closed my laptop. Quite frankly, she matters more than a blog carnival, she matters more than World Breastfeeding Week, even. I knew you all would survive and were probably busy with your own lives on a Saturday. And I knew you would understand. Though I no longer comfort or nourish this child at my breast, I do comfort and nourish her with my time and attention. We curled up together, lap top pushed aside, with a book we had started and read for an hour. We painted toe and finger nails. We turned on Regina Specktor and danced like crazy. We played wii for hours- something we never permit in our normal family rhythm- and she profoundly creamed me in Mariocart. We went out to a fancy-shmancy frozen yogurt boutique. We said farewell to her god-parents for the next 3 months until they come home from London for Christmas. We made lactation cookies. We sighed and giggled after sliding around in socks on the hardwood floors. We built towns of blocks with farms and watch-towers. We set-up the slip-n'-slide. We attended a ball in our living room complete with play silks and gowns and danced to Rachmoninov's 3rd piano concerto. We drank iced tea out of china tea cups because with the summer Houston temperatures we didn't want hot tea. We watched a movie and I didn't even multi-task, she cuddled with 3 of my girls. We went to the thrift store and found cheap treasures. We hit the grocery store and planned a fancy dinner. She reveled in being the biggest big sister and not a little sister. As my helper, she took charge when needed and entertained a tired, melting-down Squiggle Bug for us to make it through the grocery store. When I sat down to breastfeed Smunchie she asked if I needed my computer. I told her no, I just needed her and she beamed at me, grabbed a book and got as close to me as she could without knocking Smunchie off my lap and breast and she read me a story about a boy with a loose tooth. After finishing her story she stroked Smunchie's fuzz and asked me if she breastfed like that. I told her yes she did.

People, it was good. It was better than a 1000 comments on any post ever.

Lolie, 7 years old

And I realized something. The most important thing I did for World Breastfeeding Week was step away from my computer and spend time with my daughter.



So now I bring you the late finale to our blog carnival.

The Piano Man managed to squeeze in some time to write some of his thoughts on breastfeeding; Mammaries... I mean, Memories. I'm not actually sure when he did it, honestly but when he read it to me I teared up. He shared a memory of seeing his mom breastfeed his little sister and I have now made a mental note to write or call my mother in law to thank her. Again.

Our second guest post is another beautiful and moving story. We've had so many this week and I'm thrilled to share another that is honest, inspiring and full of a mother's desperate love. Breast Nurturing: A Relactating Story.

I've really enjoyed all of the bloggers that participated in the carnival. There were new-to-me bloggers and some I've been reading for a while. I hope you found some to follow, their voices offering unique perspectives on life that both challenge you and help you know you're not alone.

Re-Normalizing Breastfeeding: A first step for life-long health- Looking solely at breastfeeding from a health perspective, Kirstin muses about the long term impact of breastfeeding vs. formula feeding. Kirstin is mother to one with another on the way, she says she's learning to be a little crunchier everyday. She blogs at My Belly Blog.

Happy World Breastfeeding Week!- A personal journey that leads to discovering the joy of breastfeeding. I so appreciated Laura's honest telling of her breastfeeding experience, ups, downs, and in betweens. Laura is a SAHM who throughly enjoys catching bugs, splashing in the pool and eating popsicles with her 16 month old son Aiden and I just love the title of her blog: Blissed Out Baby.

Swimming Upstream- Becky didn't see a lot of breastfeeding before she had children and entered breastfeeding her son pretty much alone. Her story and dreams of a world where breastfeeding moms have support is inspiring. Becky is a wife and mom of two little ones, striving to keep order in her home who is enjoying her new found hobby of blogging... somewhere in the desert.

So It Has Been A While. Your Point?- Alex's hubby hijacked her blog and wrote a great post sharing his thoughts on breastfeeding! Hearing from men on breastfeeding twice in one day is a perfect way to ring out World Breastfeeding Week, don't you think? Even if it is a little late.

Our children's art project, Perspectives: Breastfeeding Through Children's Eyes was planned to wrap up tomorrow but to give more time for more submissions (and we already have so many great ones!) we're extending it through the rest of the month. As August is National Breastfeeding Month this is a fitting time for kids to be creative about breastfeeding. Send submissions to theleakyboob @ theleakyboob {dot} com.

Hope you all enjoyed the blog carnival. I'd love to hear which blog posts and guests posts touched you. Leave me a comment sharing what encouraged, inspired and connected with you from this week. Thanks you all for a wonderful World Breastfeeding Week celebration and I hope you understand why this wrap up is tardy.

Loli holding the Rollie-Pollies that earned her nick-name.

Guilt: the great conversation killer.

"Women should not feel guilty if they are unable to nurse their baby, but they should feel guilty if they are unwilling to do so, and they should be intellectually honest enough to know the difference." ~ Elizabeth Gene

This quote was bouncing around FaceBook on a few pages I "like" last week and I've been thinking about it ever since. I recognize that this quote is taken out of context which causes it to be understood differently than originally intended. However, this is exactly how it was presented and commented on though FaceBook often with great passion. It was discussed on The Leaky B@@b forums as well and I am building on some of what I said there, here. Because I couldn't quiet my thoughts on the matter I decided to explore it freely.

"Women should not feel guilty if the are unable to nurse their baby..."
Here, here! Absolutely, totally agree with this. It happens, sometimes things don't work right or there are special circumstances or situations make it beyond difficult and a mother can't breastfeed. Nobody should feel guilty for something they couldn't control. But sometimes they do. Why is that? Because they think nobody will believe them? Because they are so grieved themselves that things didn't work out? I would hope that it isn't because other moms cast guilt on them and that along their parenting journey they find away to let it go. I want to wrap my arms around all the women in the world that wanted to breastfeed but could not and tell them that they are amazing women, loving and caring for their children with all their heart, mind, soul and body. Just like women that are able to breastfeed.

"... but they should feel guilty if they are unwilling to do so, and they should be intellectually honest enough to know the difference."
Hmmm, well, here I have a problem. First of all, they should feel guilty? Guilt is supposed to be something only we bring on ourselves so why would anyone say someone should feel guilty? When we feel guilt it is because we know we did something wrong, something dishonest. For someone to suggest that we should feel guilt is to be shamed. Shame is an ugly monster, it causes people to hide, to conceal their hurt and to guard and protect it so they don't hurt more. It does not bring openness. It certainly doesn't encourage them to "be intellectually honest enough to know the difference." I want women to own it when they are unwilling to nurse and if at all possible to explore why that is but I don't wish guilt on them. Honesty with themselves, sure, that would be great but not for me, for themselves! If they can be honest, rather than defensive with themselves then maybe they could even talk about it. Guilt and it's evil twin Shame are great conversation killers, particularly when delivered by their twisted Uncle Judgment step-child of Pride.

Guilt to change a culture?
I want to change attitudes about breastfeeding, breasts, women and infant/toddler nutrition, these are subjects I am passionate about. BUT, and this is a big huge but, I think that intending to create guilt in people does not bring about change. Guilt is a poor motivator and does not encourage dialogue. There is so much too that can not be seen or understood as to why people make the choices they do. If we are spending our energy trying to incite guilt in them instead of supporting all mothers, we are not going to create an atmosphere that encourages actual change but rather breads resentment and bitterness. Telling a woman she should feel guilty for not breastfeeding by choice is dismissing her personal struggles, invalidating her emotions and intelligence. Yes, we have to make sacrifices for our children but if a sacrifice is made that causes a woman to struggle with resentment and bitterness then surely sacrifice that comes out of obligation, fear of judgment and guilt is not really sacrifice at all but a form of martyrdom and can do more harm than good. Nobody wants a mother to kill herself, emotionally or physically, that would be worse for the baby than 2 years of formula any day. Nor should these women give up having children because they have struggles. I have a problem with saying a woman who isn't ready to give up her personal struggles and inhibitions and willingly breastfeed shouldn't be having children. All of us have issues that make us less than perfect parents but in the end what a child needs is love, parents that are present in the child's life, and their physical and emotional needs met. If a woman can do that then she should not be excluded from having children even if she chooses not to breastfeed. Society (and formula companies) as a whole should bear the burden of guilt. In the end though, guilt will change nothing, education will.

Going deeper than guilt.
This quote has one thing I really love about it, that women that tried to breastfeed but honestly couldn't shouldn't feel guilty. That part I stand by wholeheartedly. It's the flip side that I have a problem with, that women that didn't even try to breastfeed should feel guilty. I honestly feel sorry for the women that don't breastfeed because they are afraid of their breasts sagging, because they will feel less sexy or because it is gross or any other reason based on low self-esteem, sexually related concerns, past relationships or abuse, or fear of what others will think. I wish I could figure out how to tell them that their worth, their value is not in their sex appeal, not in their body meeting some standard but rather in who they are. Questions run through my head as to the heart of their reasons to be unwilling. What kind of wound are they trying to band-aid with the belief that their bodies are so valuable only if they are a certain way? What deep hurt prevents them from being able to give further of their bodies to nourish their child? What suffering have they encountered that creates fear and disgust towards the amazing miracle that is their own body's capabilities? What lies have they believed about themselves and the world that causes them to silence the voice inside their head and leads them to reject what comes naturally to them as mothers? How alone do they feel that embarking into the territory of parenting is something they can face but the landscape of breastfeeding is too much? How overwhelmed are they already feeling to give themselves permission to avoid confronting any or all of these issues and then some in favor of something they know is at the very lest, second best for the child they so love?

And what can I do to help encourage and support them, educating from a place of non-judgment?

I love how Sarah, one of the posters on the forum put it (actually, everybody brought thoughtful and challenging responses that I appreciated): I have never understood the whole "well, the ones who *couldn't* nurse shouldn't feel guilty, but those who *wouldn't* nurse should!" argument. With very few exceptions, moms try to make the best decisions for themselves and their families. I will never judge another mother's efforts as "not enough" when it comes to infant feeding decisions, because, to me, it is both unfair and impossible to know what is "enough" for every individual or family.

The Measure of Indecency

This post was originally posted here.


Hello! Up here! My eyes. You’ve been so busy staring elsewhere that you probably haven’t even noticed I have eyes let alone looked in them long enough to tell me what color they are. I admit, the color of my eyes can be hard to nail down, it really depends on what I’m wearing or the color of the frames on my glasses provided I’m wearing any. Glasses! I always wear socks with sneakers, I was talking about glasses. Ugh, why must you only see me for that? As though that’s all I’m good for. It’s not like they are new, they’ve been around as long as humans have and most everyone has them.

Excuse me, it bothers you when I walk? You do realize that the primary function of my ankles is to help me walk on my feet, don’t you? I see, seeing them used in a different way is gross. Uh-huh. Would you rather I just sit around with my feet up, my ankles hidden discretely beneath my pants or skirt until they are to be viewed and touched for pleasure? Hmmmm, this could complicate things, like my life. And caring for my children. So it makes other people uncomfortable to see a woman’s ankles when she’s chasing her children around, keeping them safe, providing them with the best opportunities and using her ankles as, oh, I don’t know, how they are intended to be used? I should be worried about offending other people? Interesting. I’m really far more concerned about doing the best I can for my children. Research shows that mothers that are able to should let their children run and be active and for that to happen best a mother needs her ankles to chase after them. Saving them only for her partner’s pleasure would get in the way of her children’s health! Oh, I can use them, you just want me to cover them up. With a blanket. Or one of those fashionable things made just for that.

Wow. That really makes it difficult not to mention, uncomfortable and likely dangerous. What exactly would be adequate coverage? Adequate and safe? When I’m using them to care for my children, how much can you actually see anyway? I know socks that reveal more and ankles are plastered all over magazines, billboards, TV, and movies to sell everything from sports drinks to cars to furniture. Honestly. I’m not showing any more than what you’d see watching a sitcom. Probably less, actually. And if you think that’s shocking, what about flip-flops and open toe shoes that reveal ankles AND toe cleavage? Nobody is insisting those be covered up. But a mother running around caring for her children, now that is disgusting. Please tell me, what is the measure of indecency we hold as standard? But another man seeing my ankles while I run after kids could be a turn on? Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight. A woman doing the best she can caring for her children, using her body as it is intended is going to be an indecent turn on? Now who is disgusting? But there could be a slip and they might SEE something! Gasp! Oh dear, what will we do! Mothers around the world are seducing men left and right using their ankles as they take care of their children! What is the world coming to?!

Now you’re saying that it is ok to use them but not only do you not want to see them used “that way” but it should stop once the child is one? How exactly does that make sense? Excuse me, but my child still needs me and it is encouraged by the experts that mothers continue to chase after their children as long as it is mutually beneficial and both parties are comfortable with it. Seriously, I don’t see how there is a magic switch that is flipped when a child turns one that she would no longer need me to walk after her. She may not even be ready to walk herself yet at that point! No, there is nothing inappropriate about me continuing to care for my child that way and I’m offended that you would say there is. It doesn’t excite me sexually, I’m not that one-dimensional, thanks. I may run around and use my ankles in a fashion only appropriate with my husband in our private times along but trust me, I couldn’t even begin to compare caring for my children to making love with my husband! I am not abusing my child by continuing to trot after them. My ankles have more than one purpose and I can differentiate between their functions, it isn’t that difficult actually and I already do it with other areas of my body so why should this be any different?


Honestly, I am sorry it makes you uncomfortable but I really can’t help but wonder if that reflects more on your issues than my ankles and my mothering. Your issues don’t have much weight in my caring for my children, sorry. If other women feel uncomfortable with their ankles so exposed while they care for their children, fine. It doesn’t bother me and if they can figure out how to gallop around after kids while hiding under a blanket then more power to them. In fact, I’m impressed, I just can’t get it to work. So I’m going to continue doing what is best for my children and while I’m not going to parade around with my ankles just hanging out there all the time for the world to see, I’m not going to hide me or my children just to make you feel better. There is nothing wrong with what I’m doing, I’m not ashamed of my ankles or using them to race around after my children. Not every woman can, I’m blessed to be able to. And no, I’m not going to cover to protect your sensibilities. Maybe your sensibilities aren’t that sensible. It is, after all, only natural for a mother to hasten to protect and give her children her best. This is my best. If you don’t like it then put a blanket over your head!


Once upon a time in a bygone era, ankles were considered a sexually indecent part of the body for a woman to show, a flamboyant display of indecency if they were revealed. Other era’s featured fashion that regularly revealed the breast mostly bare including the nipples showing while covering most every other part of the body with clothing. What we consider indecent now was at one time the height of fashion and accepted by the majority of society. Likewise, what has been considered inappropriate and immodest exposure in the past are now considered commonplace even in most of the extremely conservative circles. This post was inspired by some recent online conversations I was able to read (thanks to Woman Uncensored for sharing them) and by this article. It is intended as satire regarding nursing and "extended breastfeeding." Not that I need to explain but for the record my husband completely supports me breastfeeding our children. Also, no ankle or foot fetish here. But aren't these shoes amazing? I love them. Well, love to look at them. Wearing them, not so much. Seriously, what could be more sexy that a woman scurrying after her children in a pair of smokin' hot, deadly heels?